


A Man of Occasion

by kcat1971



Series: Transitions [22]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 12:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16018115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcat1971/pseuds/kcat1971
Summary: Somedays are special for no reason at all.





	A Man of Occasion

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate my one year anniversary of starting the Transitions series, I'm publishing the last story in the series. Don't worry- I still intend to write and publish many more stories in the Transitions universe, but this one will end up being the final one on the time line. It's where I plan to end it. So for those of you who like to flip to the end of the book and read the last page, here you go. And thanks to all my lovely readers who have joined me on this adventure.

September 17, 2043

When the doorbell rings at 9am, it startles me. I roll my chair away from the desk, and make my way slowly to answer the door. My leg is a little stiff after sitting so long. Hopefully whomever it is doesn't ring it again. Josh is probably having his little mid-morning snooze.

When I get to his chair, I glance down and find he's not sleeping. His eyes are bright and he's grinning at me. He's up to something. In spite of the white hair and wrinkles around his eyes, he looks boyish and my heart skips a beat, just like it always does.

He lets me continue to the door. His body just isn't what it used to be. He's still mobile, and his mind is as sharp as ever. But his days of jumping up out of a chair and racing me somewhere are over. There are moments when I miss those days, but then I remember that most of them occurred before we acknowledged our love, and I wouldn't go back. Sure, we had fun then, but youth is wasted on the young. Growing old with Josh hasn't grown old.

Even though he's already awake, I'm glad the doorbell doesn't ring again. Neither of us appreciate the loud noise. When I open the door, I find a large bouquet. I look back at Josh. His eyes are twinkling.

"What's this?" I ask him, as I pick it up and bury my face in the dozen red and yellow roses. Even though I immediately understand the significance of the flowers, red for love, yellow for friendship, I can't think of why he'd send them today.

"Why, Donnatella, after all these years I thought you'd recognize flowers when you see them." He responds with a smirk.

I give an exasperated sigh that is all part of our routine. "I meant, what's this for?" I amend. I don't have to pull the card out to know they're from Josh. The kids never send me flowers. They know that's their father's domain.

"It's our Anniversary!" He declares.

"It's September. And our anniversary is in November." I say out of habit, with just a small smile playing on my lips. Over the years Josh has created more anniversaries than I can keep count of. Some of them are sweet, some of them are poignant, some of them are completely fictitious because he just wanted an excuse to celebrate us.

"What anniversary is this?" I ask as I put the flowers on the table. My eyes drift over to the Bartlet vase displayed prominently on the shelf. I'm tempted to use it, but I'm feeling a little shaky today. I don't want to take the chance of dropping it. The vase is irreplaceable. I miss them.

"It's the anniversary of our love story!"

"What?"

"It's been exactly one year since you started writing your book."

"It has?"

"Yes." He grins at me. "Have you gotten to the good part yet? Are we having lots of sex?"

I grin back at him. "Yes."

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. But it's just for show. We don't really have sex anymore. We make love in our own way. It's tender, and beautiful, and the fireworks are completely different.

"Are you almost to the end?" He asks softly.

"I hope not." I reply, my eyes getting a bit watery.

I know we have less days in front of us than we do behind us, but I will never have had enough of this man. This man of occasion, who has been my mentor, my lover, my partner, my friend. I simply can't bear the thought of it being over.

He smiles gently at me, scoots over in his chair, and opens his arms. I don't fall into them the way I used to. Both of our bodies require a little more care these days. So I sit down gently, then lean into him.

When he wraps his arms around me and puts his chin on the top my head, the years fall away from us.

"I love you, Donnatella."

"I love you too. And thanks for the flowers. They're beautiful."


End file.
